


What if I say we must!

by sagiow



Series: Season 3 That Never Was - sagiow Edition [1]
Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Civil War, Conversations, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Hospitals, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 08:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13700949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagiow/pseuds/sagiow
Summary: It had taken thirty-two days, but she was back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes places in the same alternate universe as "For All the Nights to Come" and follows its conclusion. Also serves as a happier mirror to "Long Day's Journey Into Night".

All day, Jedediah Foster had been fluttering about like a restless mosquito. “Nurse Phinney is coming back today, have you heard?” he would mention to anyone who would enquire as to why he was so upbeat. “On the two-o’clock, she should be here.”

At this, those who knew Mary Phinney smiled, and those who did not smiled just as much, for the doctor’s energy and eagerness were downright contagious.

As the hour came close, Jedidiah stood outside. He was glad the day was fair and warm: this would provide the perfect setting to welcome her back after the dank gloominess of late autumn in New England. When his furlough had ended, over a month ago, he had left her still weakened and easily fatigued, but most definitely and wonderfully on the mend. Since then, the length of her letters had grown weekly, her handwriting gaining in strength and clarity, her assurance that she was most recovered ever more assertive. Despite his urging for her to take all the time she needed (and would she please reconsider her last answer?), her last letter had confirmed her travel arrangements and date of arrival (and no, at this time, she would not).

Impatient, he paced the porch, checking his pocket-watch every few minutes.

“Careful, Doctor, or you’ll burn a strip through the planes,” warned Matron Brannan, between two shouted orders to the orderlies below, as she watched him go to and fro.

“Right. My apologies. It’s only ten minutes late. I just have-“

“All is fine, lad,” she reassured him. “Trains and coaches are late all the time. It is a war, after all. Just ask our dear steward about this morning’s delivery.”

At this, a loud commotion inside the building made them start. The door crashed open, and Sister Isabella’s tiny figure burst through. “Dr. Foster! Dr. Hale requires your help in surgery right this instant!”

Foster groaned in annoyance. “Right this instant? Isn’t the man being overly dramatic?”

Sister Isabella stared at the floor. “Well, he was dealing with a double amputation, and a terribly bad case of gangrene, and the patient is really not being cooperative…”

Sensing Jed’s despair, Brannan patted him on the arm. “You go right ahead and take care of the poor man, Dr. Foster, and I’ll take care of Miss Phinney. I suspect she’ll want to get settled back in her room, you can find her there once the surgery’s completed,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.

Jedidiah could only look at his watch again, and sigh. “Very well. Please tell her I apologize for not greeting her myself and that I will see her as soon as I can.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” the matron replied, the twinkle now spreading to her whole face. Jed narrowed his eyes at her, but let the matter drop, as he had more important things to attend to now if he wanted his leisure when it counted most. With large, quick steps, he re-entered the building, leaving the matron and the nun on the sunlit porch to exchange a complicit glance and a smirk.


	2. Chapter 2

A few minutes later, a stagecoach pulled up the dusty road, and the opening door revealed a tired, yet beaming Mary Phinney. After weeks of bedrest and minimal physical activity, the travel had exhausted her, but she was absolutely elated to return to Mansion House. Although she would have been well enough to travel earlier, in a reversal of fortunes, her devoted aunt had fallen ill herself, and Mary had remained at her side to nurse her through what fortunately turned out to be a minor ailment.

She had made the most of her prolonged stay in Boston, taking an hour or two every day to meet with various support organizations and raise awareness of the challenges the hospital and formerly enslaved faced every day in Alexandria, to some success. However, with her health mostly restored, and winter fast approaching, she could no longer bear to work from the sidelines: and so, under a dust of precocious flurries, thirty-two days after she had reluctantly bid Jed good-bye, she had boarded her own train, and it now was the greatest pleasure to place foot on Virginian soil and feel its glowing sun on her face.

Exiting the car, she was assaulted with the same sights, smells and noises that had so horrified her on her first arrival, yet she almost welcomed them now. _I am back_ , she thought happily as she collected her bags and made her way up to the porch. _I am home._

She was greeted by a loud bark of joy. “Miss Phinney!” shouted Matron Brannan with her arms open wide. “What a sight for sore eyes you are, my dear!”

She came up to Mary and cupped her face, smiling widely. “And looking your own good self, praise the Virgin Mother! How are you?”

“Quite well, Matron, thank you,” Mary replied, returning a smile to both women. “Very happy to be back amongst you.”

“Same as us, dear child, same as us,” the elder woman responded. “You must be tired and hungry; off to your room with you, we’ll have some refreshment brought up.”

Hesitating for a brief second, Mary scanned the porch and inner hall quickly, and it did not escape the Matron’s notice. “Don’t you worry, my dear. He was called into surgery mere moments before your arrival, he’ll be with you in a wink.”

A slight flush crept up Mary’s neck and she looked down, but she did not dispute it. In reassurance, Bridget tapped her cheek, and stepped away for Nurse Isabella to lead her in, taking hold of one of her bags.

The lobby of Mansion House was just as chaotic as ever as they weaved their way to the stairs through the jumble of people, supplies, and luggage.

“We prayed constantly for your recovery, Nurse Mary,” chimed the little nun as she wrestled through the crowd. “We’ll now give our most fervent thanks for your safe return.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Mary thanked her as she peered into a sunlit ward. The typical hustle was ongoing, but she was glad to see that most patients appeared soothed, relatively clean, their wounds well-attended to. Two figures standing by a young soldier commanded her attention: a tall, soberly dressed man, and a young dark-haired nurse. Both were strikingly good-looking and even across the distance, she saw the affection in the gaze they shared, the hint of a smile on their lips, the restraint in their postures, and she was glad of it.

As if she had felt her stare upon them, Emma Green looked across to the lobby and saw Mary. “Oh my goodness!” she cried out, swiftly tossing the supplies she held into Henry’s arms and half-running across the ward to embrace her former mentor. Mary was stunned, but happily hugged her back.

“Oh, Nurse Mary, what a relief to have you back! How absolutely wonderful!” cried Emma.

Mary raised her eyebrows in amusement at Henry, who walked up to them, still carrying his load. “She speaks for the both of us, and shows it much better,” he greeted her with a joyful smile.

Appreciative, Mary gave Emma’s back a last pat and pulled away. “How are our boys?” she asked, gesturing to the ward.

“As ever,” sighed Henry. “New patients come in every day, with new ailments and injuries. Our supplies are limited, our resources, even more so. Still, with Dr. Foster’s management, Nurse Hastings’ expertise and God’s guidance, we fare as best as we can.”

“It also helps that we now have a steward who is not a complete bully and crook,” announced Emma as if it were the most scandalous item of gossip to be heard.

Mary was pleasantly surprised at the news. “I’m very glad to hear it and look forward to meeting him,” she enthused. “I’ll just bring my things upstairs and you can introduce us.”

A gleeful chuckle escaped Emma. “I’ll help you get settled, but surely the _steward_ is not the man you’ll be wanting to meet with first.”

Mary froze, staring back at Emma’s innocent coquette face, and Henry’s suddenly flushed own. She was about to feign puzzlement at the implication when Emma continued, the coquette becoming an imp. “Besides, you already know the new steward”.

There was no further need to _feign_ puzzlement, as she rummaged her brain to figure out who Emma could possibly refer to, until she noticed the mischievous side-glance her friend shot the ever-reddening Henry. “Chaplain?” she exclaimed. “ _You_ are the new steward?!?”

He almost flinched. “Well, no, not exactly. I’m still the chaplain, first and foremost, but with Bullen gone and staff short, I help Belinda and Melcher the best I can with sourcing supplies and managing the care packages we receive.” He adjusted his hold on the boxes in his arms, and Mary understood that they had been distributing the parcels to the men in the ward before her arrival.

This filled her with utmost joy. “I am most relieved. The soldiers were outright robbed by that horrible man. I would not trust anyone more than you with this task.”

Emma continued excitedly. “Since you’ve been away, Chaplain Hopkins has taken quite the active role in the support effort. You should have seen him lead an ambulance through the battlefield last fall, to rescue men so many others had given up on!” She beamed with admiration, to his clear discomfort and barely veiled pleasure.

Not missing this, and finding it utterly endearing, Mary could not help but further stir the fire of embarrassment. “After providing such comfort to their spiritual side, I see you are now soothing their physical as well, Chaplain. Quite the holistic practitioner.”

At her words and Emma’s titter, he cringed. “Enough with the praise, ladies. You’ll make me lose my humility.”

Mary tilted her head teasingly. “I don’t think that’s possible for you, but very well, we shall let you bask quietly in your glory,” she said, adding even more to her friends’ respective states.

He attempted to change the subject. “May I give you a hand with your luggage?” he offered, but she declined, staring at his arms. “I don’t think you have one to give, Chaplain,” she replied.

“We’ll manage just fine,” Emma interrupted, taking hold of the bag from Sister Isabella. “Chaplain, you have soldiers to hearten. I’ll be back shortly to help you.” Glad for the escape, he nodded in agreement and they parted ways: Sister Isabella to the kitchen to fetch some food, the nurses climbing the stairs up to what had both been their room. Mary could not look everywhere fast enough, at the familiar faces of the nuns and orderlies, to the new ones of the wounded and their families.

Once arrived, Emma opened the door and let her in. “I hope I’ve put everything back as it was.”

The room was bright and airy, all items spotless and precisely lain, with a few plants and flowers breathing new life and color into the place. Although Mary was relieved at being back in her old realm, she could not shake the unease from the memory of her last day spent in it: the typhoid fever, slowly tamed by Jed’s ardent care; the confrontation with McBurney that had ended with her immediate dismissal, destroying what little hope she had left of recovering; her friends’ desolate gazes, as they stood powerless to stop the death sentence she had been dealt.

She shook these dark thoughts away. “It looks just perfect, and thank you for these flowers. There aren’t any so lovely in Boston at this time of year.”

“The praise must go to my mother,” Emma replied, setting the bag on the bed. “I’m afraid I haven’t inherited her green thumb.”

Mary removed her hat, smoothing back her hair. “Have you returned to stay with your family, then?”

“By and by,” Emma shrugged, allowing herself a moment’s respite by sitting on the bed’s edge. “When the work takes me late into the night, Nurse Wilcox allows me to share her room, there is a spare cot.”

“Miss Emma Green sleeping on a cot in another nurse’s room?” Mary repeated, impressed, as she hung her coat on the rack. “How you’ve grown from that hoop-skirted girl who walked in on my first day. I see you’ve put childish things further away than I would’ve thought possible then.”

Emma smiled her thanks, but her expression was sorrowful. “It tends to happens by itself, when you see your childhood friends die, or become hateful people you no longer recognize.”

Mary immediately regretted her jab and began to apologize, but Emma stilled her. “Please don’t. You were right, of course. This war, this “cause” of ours… how can we be so blind?”

Sighing, Mary tried to pacify her. “It’s not blindness to fight for your way of life, your beliefs.”

“No matter how misguided and wrong they are?” she asked, emotion peaking as she clasped her hands in her lap. “No matter if it’s _slavery_ of our fellow men?”

Mary shook her head, helpless. “You know my opinion on this, but I fear not many others believe this is the true cause of this war, be them from the South or the North.” She then walked up to the bed and sat down next to the younger woman, placing a comforting hand over hers. “Besides, whatever this war is about, it does not change our duty here. To take care of the wounded and sick it sends through our door. We can only hope their presidents and generals come to their senses before too many lives are lost.”

The gloom lifted slightly from Emma’s features, and she returned her friend’s squeeze. Mary examined the solemn young woman at her side: her simple chignon, her unadorned grey frock, her hands rough and nails shorn, and she was struck by how much she had changed over these few months. “How has it been, in my absence?” she enquired, worrying. “Has Nurse Hastings treated you well?”

“Oh, she barks more than she bites,” the young woman shrugged. “Her nursing skill is so extensive; she has actually been a very good teacher to me. And she was never one to look at the color of a soldier’s uniform before treating him,” she added with a side glance.

Chastised, Mary hung her head. “For all my exhortation in you gaining maturity, it seems I was much worse, for I lacked basic humanity. To think of Union boys as victims, and Southern ones as cold-blooded killers… how perfectly myopic and callous of me. I assure you, I very much intend on reforming myself on this standard.”

At this, Emma smirked. “Well, with the way Dr. Foster and Nurse Hastings have managed the hospital since you and McBurney have gone, I’d say it would be quite the battle to bring such Secession back to Mansion House.”

They exchanged an appreciative glance, in silent admiration of the women they had grown into over their separation, and of the diminishing chasm between their ideologies. “I should let you rest, Nurse Mary,” Emma said, rising, but Mary held on to her hand.

“Please… call me Mary. I’d very much like for us to drop the formalities, when we’re by ourselves... as friends.”

Emma’s face lit up at the offering, and she eagerly nodded. Pleased, Mary let her hand go, and continued: “Emma, if it doesn’t work out with Nurse Wilcox, and you wish to remain at the hospital overnight, I would be glad to share my room with you. It is quite large enough for two people, and two proper beds.”

The acceptance Emma was about to give stalled on her lips, and she instead crossed her arms and tilted her head in intrigued amusement. “I thought you would relish the privacy… or are you asking me because you’d rather have a chaperone?”

Mary’s eyes widened at the brazen allusion, recalling her earlier comment, and she stood up brusquely. “I should be saying that to _you_ , young lady. Now off you go,” she ordered, pushing her lightly towards the door, “… the brave chaplain awaits,” she added in retaliation.

The younger woman almost gasped, but caught herself and maintained her composure. Holding her tongue, she made her way out the door, before turning back to whisper playfully through the gap.

“And so does the good doctor.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, Dr. Hale, I think you can manage with Mr. Diggs from now on.”

The patient laid unconscious, his breath shallow, his arms now ending at the elbows. The two amputated limbs were on a table nearby, Hale eyeing them with interest as he finalized the sutures. Samuel was collecting the soiled instruments and dressings and nodded. “Sure, Dr. Foster, we’ll finish up.”

Satisfied, Jedidiah removed his blood-spattered apron, wiped his hands clean, and made for the door. With luck, Mary should have arrived by now, and he’d find her resting in her room. He took the stairs two at time, only to run into Anne Hastings on the landing.

“Dr. Foster, may I have a word?”

“Of course, Nurse Hastings, just not now,” he replied, trying to pass, but she blocked the way.

“I’m afraid I must insist,” Anne continued. “It is quite important.”

Aggravated, Foster groaned and stopped in this tracks. “Very well. What is it?”

 “Something must be done about the food,” she stated. “The tough army beef, beans, horrible butter. As you know, many of our patients suffer from dysentery. They either can’t keep their meals down, or absolutely refuse to eat them. At this rate, I’m expecting some to present symptoms of scurvy before long, if they don’t perish before. They need lighter fare. Better quality. Fresh produce.”

At this long list of requests, Jed crossed his arms defiantly. “And where, pray, do you think we can get fresh produce in the North in November?”

“I don’t know,” Anne conceded. “Silas Bullen might have been a swindler and a brute, but he had a network. Resources. Our good chaplain, for all his noble intentions and selflessness, is rather more limited.”

Jed sighed; there was truth in Anne’s words. He had noticed the army rations were bland at best, inedible at worst, and the soldiers’ morale and health suffered greatly from this insipid monotony. “I’ll speak with Hopkins. Surely Melcher knows where Bullen was trading and he can get us some fresher fare.”

Hastings nodded in agreement. “I’ve also taken it upon myself to write to various Ladies’ Aid societies in the Union. They’ve been most generous with clothing and bandages, but food is, unfortunately, not their forte.”

“Still, we can use all we can get. Thank you for your initiative. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” he attempted, pointing to the top of the stairs, but Anne firmly stood her ground.

“You must be mistaken, Doctor,” she replied, amiably. “Chaplain Hopkins was downstairs in Ward C just an instant ago, distributing comfort packages, and should he be finished by now, I’m sure he headed back to the storeroom or kitchen. All are _that_ way,” she concluded, steering him downward.

If there was one thing Jedidiah Foster had learned from having Anne Hastings as Deputy Head Nurse these last months, it was that she’d never let him have an inch of autonomy until she was satisfied with his effort to comply with her requests. With one last glare that made his opinion of it all abundantly clear, but that she received with a charming smile, he turned angrily and headed back down the stairs to find Henry.


	4. Chapter 4

Mary had barely taken a moment in her room to change, fix her hair and devour the cornbread and tea Nurse Isabella had brought her, before quickly making her way to the surgical suite. She stood at the door for an instant, silently opening it just an inch, listening for Jed’s voice.

“And this is the…. huh… wait, don’t tell me… the _extensor carpi radialis brevis_!” one voice, that wasn’t his, exclaimed.

“Right, and where does it insert?” another, deeper, replied.

“At the base of the… uh… fourth- no, _third_ metacarpal,” the first answered.

“Very good, Dr. Hale.”

Now utterly intrigued by the exchange, Mary pushed the door fully open and stepped in. As she entered, Byron and Samuel brusquely looked up from the patient, almost guiltily so, but their expressions changed to delight when they recognized the intruder.

“Baroness Von Olnhausen!” exclaimed Hale. “What pleasure to have you grace our modest operating theatre once more! I would kiss your hand, but my own are quite filthy at the moment,” he added, gesturing to the sedated patient in front of him.

Mary could not help but laugh. “Ever so charming, Dr. Hale.” A quick scan of the room confirming that Jedidiah was no longer there, she hid her disappointment and made to leave: “I see you are busy, I did not want to disturb you.”

“Not at all, my dear, not at all. Mr. Diggs was just tutoring me in hand anatomy.”

This made Mary start. “Tu.. tutoring you?” she stammered, her eyes going from Byron to Samuel, to the unconscious soldier before them.

“Well, yes,” Hale replied. “Don’t you know he is quite the accomplished surgeon?”

A smirk appeared on her lips. “No, _that_ I was well aware of. It’s your ready recognition of the fact I find so very… generous.”

Hale laughed heartily. “Always the diplomat, Nurse Phinney. But _touché_. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we will continue this enchanting conversation when we’re done with this fellow.”

Frowning, Mary placed her hands on her hips. “I thought you said you were studying _hand_ anatomy, Dr. Hale,” she replied slyly, coming closer to them. “I fail to see how that still involves this unfortunate lad.”

The two men exchanged a sheepish glance as they made room for her, and Mary finally saw the amputated forearm they had been dissecting, the fingers black with gangrene. Her bewilderment -and slight nausea- only lasted an instant, and she regained her composure and straightened herself up. “Well… I’m sure advancing our medical staff’s knowledge and surgical proficiency is a much more worthy end to a limb than being tossed out of the window to a rubbish pile,” she rationalized, looking each man in the eye pointedly. “No use in making further fuss about it.”

The men both seemed to lose an inch as they let out a sigh of relief. “But do get the poor man to his bed soon, will you?” she half-scolded.

Hale scrambled to attention. “Yes, of course; it’s quite enough training for today, Mr. Diggs. I’ll get the orderlies to take care of our benefactor right this instant. You go on and see that our dear Head Nurse has everything she requires,” he concluded, almost reverently.

With supressed mirth, Mary exited the room, Samuel right behind her. Once in the hall, they walked in companionable silence for a few steps, until they reached a quieter area, and she turned to face him genially. “Sam… it’s so good to see you.”

In his timid way, he mirrored her happiness. “Nurse Mary… I’m just glad you’re alright.”

The smile did not fade from Mary’s lip, but a certain gravity appeared in her eyes. “About that…” she exhaled, allowing her façade to crack for the first time that day. “Sam, Dr. Foster told me that it was you who convinced him to finally come to Boston.”

Samuel stammered, looking away, but she touched his arm to command his full attention. “Had he not made the trip,” she pressed on, emotion apparent despite her clear voice, “I know with certitude that I would not have recovered from typhoid. The treatment the Boston doctor had prescribed… it was woefully inadequate, and doing me more harm than good. But thanks to your urging, Dr. Foster arrived in time to correct the course. Sam, you saved my life, just as much as he has, and for this, I shall be forever grateful.”

Profoundly touched, Sam looked at her earnestly. “Nurse Mary, you’ve always treated me with nothing but respect and kindness. It wasn’t right, the way you were sent away, in Dr. Foster’s absence all the more. And _he_ wasn’t right, with you gone that way. Maybe it was bold of me, but I thought you needed one another.”

“Perhaps it was bold, Sam, but it was necessary, and the mark of a true friend.” She squeezed his arm fondly. “A very dear friend.”

For a moment, Samuel was speechless, filled with relief and gratitude. He reached up to his arm to touch her hand, pressing it lightly, and the reassuring, affectionate smile she gave him confirmed all her previous words. The physical contact only lasted an instant, but the strong, new bond between them remained as their hands dropped back down.

“Oh, I was almost forgetting,” Mary continued, a sudden hesitation to her voice. “While I was in Boston, I saw Aurelia.”

Samuel started. For a moment, he did not speak, but finally managed to utter: “That’s good. How is she?”

Mary gauged her words. “She’s safe, well, reunited with her... family.” At this point, she stopped, uncomfortable with how unwelcome this information might be. “Sam, I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken of it.”

At the news, he expected envy and regret to submerge him, but oddly, they barely lapped at his feet. “I’m not,” he stated, sounding almost surprised. “I’m truly glad for them. After all they’ve endured, they deserve to be together somewhere safe.”

In awe, Mary searched his face for any trace of a lie, and found none. “You truly are one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever met,” she declared. She then rummaged through her pocket to produce an envelope. “I only brought it up because she asked me to give you this.”

Samuel took it, reading his name in the hesitant scrawl he had come to know, staring at the crumpled paper along the edges, and slowly, his smile reappeared, as he thought of settling down to read her letter later, and hoping all the accounts it contained were as happy as he wished them to be.

“Charlotte and I…” he began, and Mary stood silent. “We’ve been working in the camp, making improvements. I was just headed there now. Would you like to accompany me?”

Mary hesitated. She could not wait to find Jed, and could already feel the adrenaline surge caused by her return waning. On the other hand, as she had not found him in surgery, he had probably been called to another emergency, from which she’d only disturb him. Not to mention she truly was curious as to the camp’s situation. So really, what was one more hour in the grand scope of things?

Smiling, she nodded to Samuel. “Yes, I’d love to.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jedidiah found Henry Hopkins in the kitchen, with Belinda Gibson and Abel Melcher. “Ah, just the man I was looking for,” he greeted him congenially.

Henry eyed him wearily. “Dr. Foster, if this is about the food situation, trust me, we are well aware of it.”

“I don’t doubt it, Chaplain,” Jed assured him. “I just want to know what more can be done, for the sake of our patients.”

Henry sighed. “For starters, the army rations we are receiving are too small for the number of soldiers we now house.”

“And the quality is frightful,” chimed in Belinda. “Beef so stringy and tough we’d be better off making shoes with it.”

“I can take care of that,” Jed declared. “Nurse Hastings’ concern was more regarding the richness of the menu, the availability of produce.”

“That is true,” Henry confirmed. “We receive next to no fruit and vegetables, and it’s not even winter. Aside from cabbage and root vegetables, there is little to be purchased at the market, and prices are high. The only fruit we get from the North are canned ones, or some apples, but nowhere near enough.”

To this, Jed had no easy answer. “What of bread, butter, coffee? A decent breakfast would do every one wonders.”

Belinda shrugged. “Get me good flour and cream, I’ll make you good bread and butter. There’s nothing to it. We can get eggs and milk easy enough, if we have the money. As for coffee, just make sure it’s the real stuff, and not some logwood-dyed used grounds, and we’ll be in business.”

“Surely there are farms in the area that we could buy food from?” Foster asked, growing despondent as the list increased, and once basic staples were now apparently difficult to find.

There was a dry laugh from Melcher. “Most of them are not exactly eager to deal with a _Union_ army hospital,” he sneered.

Jed turned to him, frowning. “Where did Bullen get it all, then?”

Melcher only snorted. “No place an honest chaplain is willing to go.”

At this, Jed caught Henry’s eye, and for the first time, he saw a hint of the man hiding behind the dutiful, honorable chaplain; a man unafraid of action, fueled by an anger he would not be proud of, but that could be their saving grace. “Never mind that; how much are we talking about?” Hopkins asked.

“It’s not about the buying, it’s about the trading,” Melcher explained, as to a group of children. “Bullen got what he wanted because he took what _they_ wanted, even from those care packages you so carefully keep. If you ain’t willing to do that, you won’t get much for your tough beef and beans and greenbacks.”

They all pondered this dilemma in silence. It was Henry who spoke first, his resolve set. “I’ll go scout nearby farms and mills. They might not be willing to deal with the Union army, but perhaps a poor chaplain tending their Southern boys might get something.”

Belinda eyed him, with a certain appreciation. “I know a few places you might get lucky. Friends and business contacts of the Greens,” she added, her meaning not lost upon him.

Melcher only stared at them all, and shook his head in disappointment. “Suit yourself.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea, Chaplain, and a very good start,” Jed encouraged him, but knowing, as Henry did, that it would probably not be enough.


	6. Chapter 6

“Well, Miss Jenkins, I must say, this is truly remarkable.”

Mary and Charlotte stood at the edge of a tent, assessing its inhabitants. Although many were sick, and much more were weak, nothing appeared to be overly serious, that could not be tamed by a few days’ rest and adequate nourishment. Smallpox and typhoid fever, which had claimed so many mere months ago, had been quelled, and no further epidemic had reared its fearful head. The tents, although impermanent, were made of sturdy canvas that kept the cold at bay.

“Thank you, Miss Phinney,” Charlotte acquiesced. “It’s hard work, but worthwhile.”

“Are you well supplied?” Mary asked, looking at the state of the people’s dress, comfort and food.

“As well as can be hoped for these days. I know the situation in the hospital isn’t exactly bountiful, so I’m glad for whatever Chaplain Hopkins can spare us. Also, Dr. Foster has been uncharacteristically present since his furlough, so between him and Samuel, we have sufficient medical assistance.”

Upon hearing this, Mary could barely keep her relief from showing, but she managed to hold her expression neutral. “You truly could not ask for better physicians,” she confirmed, nodding at Samuel, who was completely absorbed in the care of a young woman.

Charlotte followed her gaze, a proud expression on her face. “Speaking of Samuel, he has performed quite the accomplishment. Come.”

She led Mary to the woman who, upon closer view, was holding a small infant. “This is Laura, the mother of the camp’s firstborn baby,” Charlotte introduced them. “Samuel delivered him.”

Amazed, Mary gazed in wonder from the mother and child to Samuel, standing reservedly to the side of his patients. The mother, softly caressing the baby’s dark hair, nodded, her proud eyes fluttering slightly. “He is. He did. The good Negro doctor. So we named him after him. Lil’ Sam. Samuel Freeman.”

There was a drawl, a sluggishness to her words that caused Mary to frown. “Are you quite all right, ma’am?” she asked.

The woman nodded, cradling her child closer, eyes closing. “Just tired, is all. Hard work, bringing a baby into the world.”

“Harder still, running from slavery to make sure he’s born free,” soothed Charlotte, as she checked her forehead, and looked at Samuel, who could only shrug helplessly. “We’ll bring you another blanket, keep you and Lil’ Sam warm.”

As all three walked away, Mary asked, in a subdued voice: “Is anything wrong with her?”

Samuel shook his head. “Nothing that I can find, but it’s been weeks since the birth, and she’s barely recuperated her strength. I’ll ask Dr. Foster to pay specific care to her tomorrow.”

At the mention of Jedidiah’s name, Mary took in the low, late afternoon sun, the chill in the air, the pain in her back, and suddenly had increased incentive to return to Mansion House.

Charlotte must have felt it, for she said: “You head on back, Miss Phinney, get some rest from your travel. It’s no good taxing yourself so early after you’ve recovered and just gotten back to us. They’ll be plenty of opportunities for us to work together still.”

Grateful for her kindness, Mary agreed. “I most certainly do hope so, Miss Jenkins.”


	7. Chapter 7

Jed left the kitchen gladly, far from satisfied at the discussion they had had, and thinking of how best to formulate his request for more supplies to the Surgeon General. _Mary would know_ , he caught himself think, and for once, had no sorrow over it. _We’ll see to it tomorrow. Together._

Caught in these pleasant thoughts, he rounded the top of the stairs to almost stumble upon Anne Hastings, and let out an exasperated roar.

“I swear to God, Hastings, if this is still about the blasted beef…”

“No, Doctor,” Anne interrupted him, fully serious, the alarm clear in her voice. “The soldiers that arrived from the Blue Mountain camp yesterday… one of them is quite ill. I’m afraid it could be…” she lowered her voice to a discrete whisper, “Smallpox.”

“Smallpox?!” he repeated, his annoyance vanishing at once. “In which ward is he?”

“The second floor’s.” There was no need for her to say more: Jed was already hurrying towards it.

“Have you had the disease?” he asked as they made their way rapidly through the crowd.

“Yes, as a child, and I was exposed a few times since. I’ll be fine.”

“I hope that’s the case for the rest of the regiment, because we have to quarantine the area. Make sure all the attending staff that goes in have had it before. We can’t have it spreading to the rest of the hospital.”

 _First typhoid fever, now smallpox_. He knew the camp had had a few cases, but in the hospital, they had so far managed to keep it at bay. As he rushed up the stairs to the ward, his thoughts were of Mary, and he prayed fervently she had been in contact with the disease previously. _God, please don’t let her come back to me only to fall ill and suffer again._

Followed closely by Anne, he entered the ward and shut the door. She pointed to one of the patient, who was feeble but awake. Foster knelt by his side. “Soldier, Nurse Hastings tells me you are unwell.”

The soldier winced. “It itches, Doctor. The rash.”

“Where is it?” asked Jed, inspecting the patient’s palms, and seeing no blisters. “Your feet?”

“No, my chest, mostly,” he replied, the worry clear in his voice, as he pulled open his shirt.

Jed felt the patient’s forehead, confirming the high fever, and looked at the eruption. Small red lesions covered his trunk. He inspected the soldier’s arms and legs, and found none.

“That is not smallpox. It’s varicella.” Jed let out a sigh of relief and rocked back on his heels, the day’s weariness finally crashing into him. “Chickenpox.”

“Are you sure?” Anne replied, incredulous.

“Yes, very much so. You’ll be fine, son,” he added to the soldier’s attention with a pat on his shoulder, before standing up.

Anne looked at him contritely, twisting her fingers. “I’m sorry for the mistake, but I could have sworn-”

“Oh, I’m not. Better to assume the worst. Still, quarantine the area for the staff who have never been exposed; it might rarely be fatal, but it is most unpleasant. I’ll fetch some calamine lotion to relieve his discomfort.” _Chickenpox._ He almost wanted to laugh.

“Yes, Doctor Foster,” she agreed readily. “Will do, and thank you.”

With a spring in his step, Jed exited the ward. Not only was there no smallpox in the hospital, but Anne Hasting’s embarrassment should give him at least a day’s respite from her never-ending list of requests and requirements.

And Mary was back, and after this last errand, he should be free to seek her at last.

It was a good end to the day indeed.


	8. Chapter 8

Mary entered the hospital. With the late hour, the level of activity had decreased significantly. Few visitors remained, and those who did huddled close to their loved ones, speaking in hushed tones.

For an instant, she debated as to where she would have the greatest odds in finding Jedediah, and concluded on his office. As she made her way to it, she inspected the wards, her heart skipping a beat every time she caught a glimpse of a dark haired, bearded man in uniform or rolled shirtsleeves, but it was never him.

His office door was open, and she was disappointed to find it empty. If not on the floors, and not in his office, could he have retired already? Or gone to claim some food from the kitchen?

Or were they chasing each other in circles, one leaving a room just as the other entered it?

The idea was infuriating, and she no longer had the energy to keep up the chase. Entering his office, she took a piece of scrap paper to jot a quick note, but stood at a loss as to what to write. What if someone else should find it before him? _I’m back, please come by my room tonight_ was a sure-fire way to spread the news of their attachment, if not occur outright scandal, and that, she could not risk. But on the other hand, she did not want to appear overly aloof, and risk offending him. She finally tossed the pen: by now, a number of people could confirm her arrival to him, and she knew he would seek her out when he was done. She just had to stop running, and let herself be found.

So with that in mind, she exited the office, intent on heading to her room to rest and wait, but fell upon Anne Hastings. “Miss Phinney. Welcome back,” the Englishwoman greeted her, hands on her hips.

 _Here we go_ , Mary thought. Expecting an argument, she felt what little energy remained dissolve, yet managed to smile a greeting. “Nurse Hastings. Thank you,” she replied, bracing herself for the assault.

Anne nodded back, and took in her rival’s drawn features and uncharacteristically poor posture. A corner of her mouth imperceptibly curled upward and she tilted her head. “He’s in the medical supply room.”

Mary was taken aback. “He… I beg your pardon?”

“Dr. Foster. I suspect he’s the one you were looking for? He just headed to the medical supply room a few minutes ago. You should catch him there.”

Mary was too stunned to move. “Although he won’t be there much longer if you just stand here staring at me,” deadpanned Hastings.

“Of course.” Mary sparked back to life, and turned to go. “Thank you,” she repeated, sincerely this time, yet still puzzled. Anne shrugged and smirked. “We’ll talk again tomorrow. Nothing to worry about, to be sure; I’ve been managing perfectly well in your absence.”

They both restrained the smile that threatened to spread on their lips, as the glimmer of potential camaraderie managed to peak through their rivalry.

Mary then quickly turned and made her way to the stairs. Through the large windows, she saw that the streetlamps were being lit as a pale, quarter moon barely peaked from behind misty clouds.

The door to the supply room was closed, and she hesitated as whether to knock. The effort from her swift jaunt up the stairs and the thought that, at last! their reunion was at hand, made her heart threaten to burst out of her chest. Taking a final deep breath, she straightened herself up and opened the door.

An oil lamp sat on the table, providing what little light there was to be had in the dark room. She made out the shape of the cabinets, their glass walls reflecting the amber hue, but could not see further. The room was silent, the shuffle of her skirts the only sounds as she entered it. Had she missed him? Or… was he perhaps in someone else’s company?

She could not back out now. “Je- Dr. Foster?” she called out, in as steady a voice as she could muster, her hesitation making her resort to the safety of formality.

There were finally other noises: rapid footsteps, the creak of floorboards, and Jedidiah Foster appeared from behind the middle row of cabinets. His eyes, already wide at hearing her long-desired voice, grew bright as they finally found her, standing by the door. For an instant, his body tensed, as if to sprint across the room to her, but then, as he processed her words, relaxed somewhat.

“ _Dr. Foster?!”_ he repeated, baffled, yet much too happy to prevent himself from grinning widely. “Aren’t we well passed that point?”

The ice was broken. Relief flooded her, and Mary could only laugh in embarrassment. “I didn’t know if we were alone,” she said, by way of explanation, clasping her hands together as he knew she did when she was self-conscious, or nervous. “After today, I was about to give up hope it’d ever be possible”.

He looked at her adoringly: yes, paler and thinner than during her tenure as Head Nurse, but herself again, standing tall despite the weariness and emotion, that spark of hers fully rekindled. And looking at him with such open honesty, with no artifice or veil, and fully mirroring his joy at their reunion and breathless anticipation at what would come next. “Oh Mary,” he said, hoarsely, “I can assure you that in this precise instant and location, we are most definitely, utterly and _finally_ alone.”

He stepped forward, a hand reaching out for hers, but she lifted a finger to beckon him to wait; never leaving his gaze, which grew more bewildered by the second, she leaned back against the door to close it, and turned the key in the latch.

Jed stared in admiration at her boldness. “What if someone needs us?” he asked, lamely.

Her eyes were dark; her meaning, crystal clear. “Jed,” she said, the sound of his name bringing him utmost delight, “I’ve waited for this moment for thirty-two… no, thirty- _three_ days now,” she replied softly, but assuredly, as she crossed the little distance that remained between them, her hands coming to rest delicately on his chest. “Whoever needs us can wait a few minutes.”

A shadow passed over Jedediah’s face.  “A few minutes?!” he retorted mournfully, touching her waist ever so lightly. “To finally be reunited, and all we get are a few minutes? That’ll never do.”

She sighed, eyes closing. “Please, Jed. We discussed this in Boston.”

“You did not walk about locking doors and looking like _this_ in Boston,” he half-joked, taking in the intricate plaits of her glossy hair, how the blue of her blouse brought out the blush of her cheeks and the redness of her lips. “You’re not giving me a fair chance.”

He was about to continue, but she raised her face to his: seeing the weariness on her features, he immediately dropped the matter, and hung his head. “No, I know, please forgive me.” He took both her hands in his, and pressed them closely to his heart. “You want to pursue your work here, while the war last. It’s commendable, and I am being selfish, when I should only be proud of having such a dedicated Head Nurse as a…” he hesitated, searching her face for any trace of affront, “Fiancée?”

There was none; rather, a soft smile appeared on her lips and she tilted her head. “Well, I _did_ accept your proposal; we just haven’t yet set a date. So, I think fiancée is perfectly appropriate.”

 “Not it’s not,” he confirmed, resigned, releasing her hands to resume his hold on her waist. “It’s nowhere near enough. But if you’d have us wait, and work, and keep up our positions and appearances in public, but share few blissful minutes, stolen here and there in empty storerooms and dark hallways, then it will do, and I shall bear it as gracefully as I can, and just be grateful for you to be alive, and here.”

“And yours. Only yours." She reached up to touch his face, her fingertips tracing his jaw through his beard. "We will have all the blissful minutes we could ever wish for, my darling, just not yet." Her eyes, suddenly darker, bore deep into his. “Now stop wasting these.”

For once, he did as he was told, and waiting no longer seemed so terrible.

**Author's Note:**

> After middlemarch’s surely wonderful take (that I finally get to go and read in its entirety, yay!), here is my personal vision of Season 3 That Never Was. The title is completely taken from hers to show our differing viewpoints :)
> 
> Although I initially had other ideas (namely, Jed finalizing his divorce in early S3, and him and Mary being free to court throughout S3 with a potential wedding in the finale (TV tropes galore!)), I found it impossible to retcon my headcanon as established in the conclusion of "For All the Nights to Come". Structure-wise, it also serves as a happier mirror to "Long Day's Journey into Night" (yes, my brain runs in neverending circles of alternate universes).
> 
> I thought that the tension and conflict that would arise from Jed and Mary being technically free to marry, but refusing to do so for personal/professional/other more or less valid reasons, would be quite in character and downright too delicious to pass up on. I most certainly plan on exploring it further in future “episodes”, but I’m gonna need a break from all the logistics of multi-character/ historical/medical episodic writing for now, cuz that's just too much bloody research & brain twisting for the time I have for fanfic. BUT the seeds of a few potential plots have been planted for future reaping.
> 
> I sincerely hope other fans will share their own vision of S3TNW, or feel free to jump aboard this one!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> SIDE NOTES (that should be chapter notes, but I find those distracting)  
> \- Would Anne, in all her Crimean knowledge, mistake chicken pox for smallpox? No way in hell. But I just needed a last Jed/Anne scene to link the previously-written surrounding scenes, and this is all I care to come up with at this point. If I dally any longer, middlemarch will be on Episode 5 by the time I finish my premiere!  
> \- All is calm on the Eastern Front in the Fall of 1862, hence why there's not much going on battle-wise (I did do my history homework)
> 
> References:  
> \- Hand anatomy: https://emedicine.medscape.com/article/1285060-overview#a7  
> \- Food situation : P.M. Toler, Heroines of Mercy Street: The Real Nurses of the Civil War, 2016.  
> \- Chickenpox vs smallpox: Ha, busted. I just Google Image searched these terms and took the info from the tables there. Total hack job. Goes to show just how well thought out that scene was.


End file.
